Everything Fades Away
by Marchwriter
Summary: A reflective piece at the end of Sabriel. The last moments of Terciel: the fifty second Abhorsen, Sabriel's father and hero.


**Author's Note:** After finishing Sabriel for the second time and reading the sadly few fanfictions on the last moments of Terciel (at least I think that's his name)- Sabriel's father and former Abhorsen. I felt I had to give him something of a tribute to his last brave moments as I picture them. Hope you like it.

This is my first attempt at exploring Garth Nix type fanfiction. Any _constructive_ criticism and reviews are certainly welcome and I thank you for taking the time to read my story and judge it accordingly.

**Disclaimer:** Of course all characters belong to the genius of Garth Nix. I own them not and make no profit from them.

**Rating**: K (No blood, little violence maybe. Descriptions of death.)

**Summary**: A reflective piece at the end of Sabriel. The last moments of Terciel, Sabriel's father, the fifty-second Abhorsen and hero.

* * *

**_Everything Fades Away _**

By: The Lady of Light

_ "Now… Abhorsen wielded the sword and bell…. 1 For the first time devoid of frost. He looked hard, determined, but he smiled, and bowed his head a fraction as they passed…" 2 _

The chamber rang. Rang with the horrible, throbbing jar of a hundred Dead desiccated voices, of skeletal hands clapping, rotten feet stomping and mauled throats chanting. Stricken, half-rotted bones clacked together, fleshless knees shook, tongue-less mouths yawed wide gaping holes of nothingness, all screaming a chant of ritual with the hair-raising screech of a hundred bone saws at work.

Abhorsen waded calmly through the cacophony, the once still marble smoothness of the reservoir water shattered into a million, frothing wavelets by the frenetic movements of the Dead. Fog twining, curling, catching at his knees, his coat, his hair dragged at him as he grimly moved towards the darkness near the center of the haunted resevoir.

_ The Clayr had seen it. _

Yesterday or tomorrow… They had seen it. This deathly struggle in this dark place. The burning eyes of a Free Magic monster. He knew he would not live to see the morning and in his own way he mourned what he had not done, what he would leave undone, who he would leave… They had known. Now, he did.

"Going into death? How unlike you… Mogget," he smiled at the little white cat perched upon his shoulder. Those knowing green eyes flickered to his and turned away to gaze piercingly into the fog. His collar was gone.

"I go only to see you die, former Abhorsen," the thing that had been Mogget hissed, his cat shape already losing form and substance becoming a menacing crackling electric element of Free Magic. "For so am I bound."

"Bound no longer."

"The blood price has yet to be paid in its timely end." Abhorsen felt the white-hot substance of the thing graze his cheek, singing eyebrows and the side of his face with a blistering heat incongruous with the chilling fog enshrouding them.

"The bitter end."

The chilled metal of Astarael tingled under his long-fingered hands. The heavy bell was wet. Whether with the droplets of fog or something else he did not know. Small silver tears beaded down the bell's Charter spelled surface. He held the clapper carefully still now; it would not do to sound it until he was close enough. Kerrigor lingered still near the north stairs, either unwilling to draw closer or biding his time.

The sickness pervading the chamber from the broken Stones in the center did not perturb him. He was close now. He could taste the bloody metallic tang of Free Magic in his mouth, stirring his skin, whirling his white hair about his face. This was his time, he knew it to be so. Fearlessly, he moved forward, grim, determined.

The duty of the Abhorsen was his: his job, his life, his self and yes, his sacrifice. He had sacrificed so much. His love… his wife… his daughter… and now his own life as he always knew it would be. His own name he had forgotten. For duty. No personal ties did he own any longer. With a mirthless smile, he remembered the tight embrace his sweet child had given him before they had entered back into Life. He would miss her. He had not been an ideal parent, in his heart he had known that, and it hurt. Even to his own daughter whom he loved- would always love her- he could feel nothing more than remorse for time lost. But it no longer mattered. She was the Abhorsen now. His time was over.

Time.

Sabriel must have reached the stair by now with … Touchstone his name was now. Vaguely, Abhorsen wondered why he had chosen that name but it quickly flitted from his mind as the drumming thundered louder in his ears.

But Abhorsen came steadily on, swiping putrid Hands aside absently with his sword. Mogget, perched on his shoulder, hummed placidly, his voice growing to a buzzing, threatening surge of menace. Then he was gone, a blazing lightning bolt of white sparks. Straight towards Kerrigor he flew, eager to come to battle. He smashed into the deep-chested, twisted form of Rogir unhinging maw gaping wide in a howl of outrage.

For the first time Abhorsen paused, surprised. Never before had he seen the creature head so willingly into battle. But he forced the feeling aside. Now was not the time for it, nor would there ever be a time for it as he cocked his wrist, little droplets flinging from the cold tearful Weeper.

It rang.

Softly. A single sweet peal like the first few raindrops of a summer storm.

Hearing it, Kerrigor screamed like a man being burned alive and tried to fight free of the Mogget creature who suddenly released him at the sound of the bell.

Dead Hands continued clapping, their few functioning mouths chanting with the horrible keening wail of lambs being slaughtered. They were falling apart, their physical and spirit forms unable to withstand the call of Astarael. The call to final Death.

With a bone-shattering shriek, the Mordicant exploded towards him, broiling flames shooting from its mouth like a flaming train. Icy spray shot six feet into the air with the fearsome power of its rush.

Abhorsen stood firm, swaying Astarael still in a practiced, pale hand, the sound ever-growing, rattling the very pillars around them.

With a deathly howl, the Mordicant screamed and collapsed not three paces from the waiting Abhorsen, vanishing in a shooting plume of spray and mist, screeching into the pull of the river, dragged by the cold current where it would tumble over and over to its final end.

Recognizing the lonesome, mournful call, Kerrigor/Rogir's flaming fire-pit eyes filled with rage and fear as he turned to flee from his dying servants and the horrible, knelling summons of that last terrible bell.

Leaping forward Abhorsen caught the fleeing corpse in a steel-locked embrace, clasping the dead flesh desperately to carry Kerrigor deep into Death with him almost to the Final Precipice. It wouldn't prevent him from rising again but it would give his daughter the time she so desperately needed to prepare herself for the challenge of her life.

Still the bell rang on.

The sound swelled like a wave rushing to shore, gaining speed and power as it crested to the breaking point.

Abhorsen felt his own body dying, absorbing the unrelenting tug of the bell. He did not resist. His hold on both the sloughing construct-flesh under his hands and the life within his body was slipping.

"You cannot banish me, Abhorsen!" Kerrigor screamed furiously, the fire pits flaming in his eyes as he threw himself from side to side, trying to escape the necromancer. "I will always return! Nothing can keep me from the power I have gathered to myself!"

Abhorsen simply hung on tighter. "This is not your path!" he cried aloud, raising the vibrating bell high.

_ A hundred hundred heartbeats. _

Greyness flooded his vision, the last sweet tones of Astarael echoing in his ears. He felt the familiar current of the river tugging at his body. He stared up into shadowy dimness, coldness- oddly comforting coldness- enveloping his weary soul.

Kerrigor was nowhere to be seen, already swept beyond the First Gate. He would return soon. But for some reason that unsettling thought did not concern him any longer. Earthly cares fell away. A long life of wandering Death, of fighting those who would not remain lifeless. Lost love, lost friends, lost children. No more. All cares, worries, agonies, regrets fell away to be replaced with a quiet calmness, a peace he had not known in a long, long time.

But there was one last duty he must fulfill.

With a supreme effort, he raised his head and then laboriously his body out of the enticing water, staring around the blankness for what he knew he would find.

There.

The only brightness in this dim reality.

A fiery white yet somehow blurred at the edges thing appeared out of the mist of the First Gate, pausing before the spectral Abhorsen, white hair and pallid face drained of all color in Death.

"My final command." His voice echoed oddly as never before as he handed over sword and bell which a sparking white tendril reached out for. "It is my daughter's care now."

"Go in peace to your rest, Abhorsen." Though bound for an eternity of servitude and bitterness, the now-freed creature that had been Mogget bowed its head in an unmistakable gesture of respect. "You have earned this cold river at the very last." It caustically added.

Abhorsen smiled and let himself go.

The river came up swiftly to bear him away.

Far away echoes only vaguely heard through the rushing in his ears… another time… another place… but present now… as the last of Life faded from his eyes.

_ "He'll go quickly beyond the Final Gate." 3 _

The End

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I hope you readers enjoyed this. Thank you very much for taking time to read this little vignette and I hope to hear opinions from you.

Works Cited (Just in case)

1- Nix, Garth. Sabriel. New York: Harpertrophy, 1995. Pg. 384.

2- Nix, Garth. Sabriel. New York: Harpertrophy, 1995. Pg. 386.

3- Nix, Garth. Sabriel. New York: Harpertrophy, 1995. Pg. 389.

Cheers!

The Lady of Light


End file.
